


Drift

by little_murmaider



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Drunk bros, Gimme the beat boys and free my soul, Just a couple guys being silly dudes, M/M, Misrepresentations of the midwest, Sea otter facts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-08-23 08:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20239756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_murmaider/pseuds/little_murmaider
Summary: Nathan and Skwisgaar crack into too much bad box wine. Skwisgaar knows a surprising number of Sea Otter Facts.





	Drift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CynicalGinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalGinger/gifts).

> A prompt from Cynical Ginger on Tumblr: Nathan and Skwisgaar having a conversation about wine and what the crop is like in Champagne Country this year while getting super drunk off boxed wine and eating crisps.
> 
> Thanks pal!

“No, fuck, don’t, you can’t just _suck_ on it.”  
  
Skwisgaar lifted his finger from the valve, lips wrapped around the nozzle, rosé dribbling down his chin.  
  
“But de wines ams in de bags, and I wants it ins my body.”  
  
“But you gotta _slap_ the bag first!”  
  
“Whys?”  
  
“Because!” Nathan dragged his nails across the bottom of his bag of chips, fingers catching in the aluminum seam. He tossed it aside and tore into another. “It uhhhhh. Released the uh. Tannins. Or whatever you _just gotta do it slap the bag Skwisgaar slap it good._”  
  
“Alrights! Fine! I slaps it!”  
  
Shifting one hand to grip the bag’s back corner, Skwisgaar locked eyes with Nathan, then tepidly tapped the side with the ends of his fingers. The liquid sloshed in its plastic constraints. Satisfied, Nathan nodded sagely, and Skwisgaar drained the thing in one go.  
  
“Did you know,” Nathan said, “champagne can only be made in the Champagne region of France?”  
  
Skwisgaar coughed as he struggled at the flap of another box of wine. “Dis amn’ts Cham-Pag-Ney.”  
  
Nathan leaned over from his perch on the couch and ripped the cardboard in half. “I know but it’s in the family.”  
  
Skwisgaar pulled out the bag of wine, swung at it, missed, squinted, then connected with the flat of his palm.  
  
“I don’t have a lot of opportunities to share my wine fun facts.”  
  
“Where dis stuff from?”  
  
“Uh.” He held the box close to his face. “Champaign, Illinois.”  
  
Skwisgaar tipped his head back, unaware he was still applying pressure to the wine bag’s valve. A steady pink stream ran down his front.  
  
“Dat’s de same, rights?”  
  
“Oh yeah, totally the same. Champaign is the Box Wine capital of the midwest. Pickles can confirm that. **_PICKLES_**.” He looked around. “Damn, Pickles isn’t here.”  
  
Skwisgaar’s tongue lashed out, waggling wildly from side to side. Eventually it found the stream, and he guzzled like a long-stranded prospector. Nathan’s attention returned to his snack. He munched with abandon, fingers coated in a cheesy, oddly-green film. The spice sparked on his tastebuds. This was the good stuff. Kettle cooked. Lightly salted. None of that Kirkland shit. Glancing down his nose he saw crumbles and crumbs that had escaped his grasp smattered across his chest. He snatched each bit with his fingertips and returned them to his mouth.  
  
Skwisgaar giggled.  
  
“You laughing at me?”  
  
“Noes!” He set down the bag. “Well, ja, but it’s cause.”

His breathy laughter cut him off.  
  
“Just say it!”  
  
“You’s like a sea otter!”  
  
“The **_FUCK_** you call me?”  
  
Skwisgaar wheezed, rolling out of his cross-legged position to sprawl into a lounge.  
  
“Sea otters, dey floats on dey backs, ands dey breaks clams on dey bodies, and dey eats dem rights off dey chests.” He mimed the action. “Just like yous!”  
  
Nathan looked down at the chip fragments still dusting his shirt. He brushed them off.  
  
“That’s a cool fact.”  
  
“I knows a lots of cool facts!”  
  
“Tell me another one.”  
  
Skwisgaar frowned.  
  
“Nows I can’ts t’inks of any, cause you asked mes to tells to you ones.” He clambered up to the couch and flopped beside Nathan. “You can’ts just _ask a guys_ to tells you facts. Dat’s just _rudes_.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
“S’okays.” He melted into the cushions, eyelids fluttering. “Waits. I gots another ones. It’s about sea otters agains.”  
  
“You know a lot about sea otters.”  
  
“I knows at least two t’ings about sea otters.” He sighed, eyes drawing closed. “Whens sea otters goes to be asleeps in de waters, dey holds hands.”  
  
“What.”  
  
“It so dey don’t drift aways from each others.”  
  
“Oh my God that’s adorable.”  
  
“It _so_ adorables! Let me shows to yous.” He withdrew his phone and stared at it with one eye screwed shut. He pawed his wrist across the screen, pouted, and let it fall limply from his grip. “I show you tomorrows.”  
  
Skwisgaar sunk deep into the couch, sleepy drunkeness weighting his limbs. His hand laid open as a blossom beside Nathan’s, alabaster fingers unfurling toward gnarled, discolored ones. Nathan touched the callous at the end of Skwisgaar’s middle finger. Then he closed his hand around his middle finger. And his index. And his ring.  
  
“Whutcha doings?” Skwisgaar mumbled. Nathan slid his palm down to suction against Skwisgaar’s.  
  
“Making sure you don’t drift away.”  
  
A smile ghosted across Skwissgaar’s lips. His hand wrapped around Nathan’s.  
  
“Cools.”


End file.
